


A Chick Lit Novel

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not a fan of Carver Edlund's work. Cas attempts to appease him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chick Lit Novel

_It's amazing what you can lie to yourself about if you try. Bitterness at a life grown up too young, too unstable. Guilt for the end result of the job you do - there's no getting away from it: your work, however noble, is washed in blood. Rage at yourself, the world, all of those around you for the sheer nightmare of every waking day. Betrayal. Abandonment. Fear. Loss._

 

_It gets to a point where you even fool yourself into believing all is fine. With the right combination of whiskey and words screamed over a rock soundtrack, you can dull yourself into believing that this is living, that this is what you absolutely, totally want._

 

_But he's under your skin._

 

And it was at that point that Dean flung the novel he was reading straight at the wall to land on the floor with a soft thud.

 

“My life is NOT a chick lit novel,” he says defiantly to an empty room.

 

An almost empty room.

 

Because this is when Cas materialises, and he stands for a moment before bending to pick up the book, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks at the cover. He raises an eyebrow over at Dean who shrugs, before patting the empty space beside him on the bed in invitation.

 

“I felt your...distress,” Cas offers, walking towards Dean and shrugging out of his trenchcoat.

 

“Sam thought it would be hilarious to bring me the latest Supernatural instalment. It's...it's awful, Cas. They make me sound like a wannabe Mr Darcy,” he complains sulkily.

 

Cas kicks off his shoes, grinning. “I see. Does that make me Elizabeth Bennett?” he asks as he climbs on to the bed and straddles Dean with an assuredness that comes with well-practised movements.

 

Dean runs his hands up Cas' thighs in appreciation and seats him comfortably on his lap, spreading his legs a little to support Cas’ weight. “Dunno, Cas,” he pretends to muse, fingers inching their way up under Cas' shirt as Cas removes his jacket. “Feel like flouncing around the countryside reciting poetry whilst your hem is inch deep in mud?”

 

Cas leans down over him, pressing their chests together and breathing against his lips. “I don't know how to flounce.”

 

“Shame,” Dean smiles, tilting his chin upwards. “What about the poetry?”

 

Cas presses his lips against Dean's then, feeling them curve upwards. “I can recite you poetry if you wish.” He bites down softly on Dean's lower lip, bending further to graze just under his jaw, and behind his ear, and on his lobe, huffing in contentment as Dean lets out a groan. “Although I don't recall that Miss Elizabeth ever did that.”

 

Dean sneaks his hand up through Cas hair, flicking his tongue against Cas' mouth for access. “I'm sure you can improvise, Cas,” he mumbles, closing his eyes as Cas’ tongue slides over his.

 

Cas hums low, grinding down on Dean and sighing heavily as Dean's hands move round to press into his ass, pulling him roughly against him.

 

“What about the mud?” Dean mumbles, eyes half lidded as he rocks gently up against Cas.

 

“I'd rather be inches deep in you,”

 

Cas feels Dean go completely still beneath him before pulling back a little. Cas’ grin is wicked, and his eyes are full of mirth at the incredulous look on Dean’s face. “Cast _iel!_ ” He manages eventually, mouth still gaping open in surprise, “Did you... did you just make a dirty joke?”

 

“Perhaps,” Cas smiles, his hands reaching down to fumble with the button on Dean's jeans. “Perhaps,” he repeats, laughing at the hiss Dean gives as he feels Cas pulling down his zipper. “You have been a most... engaging teacher, Dean.”

 

And how can Dean object to that?

 

The Supernatural novel lays forgotten on the bed, and is soon knocked to the floor. Not merely a chick lit novel, it thinks, because of course, all novels can think for themselves. More of a chick lit novel with a bit of spice.

 

A t-shirt flutters down, covering the book, and soon all it can hear is a symphony of a creaking bed, soft moans and skin on skin.

 

Maybe a lot of spice, it amends.

 


End file.
